


Of Suitcases and Sketches

by FoxRafer



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:31:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We all know Richard has said he didn't unpack for a few weeks, and that it was a picture of Thorin that helped him see himself in the role. This is just my spin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Suitcases and Sketches

**Author's Note:**

> I believe [**this is the sketch**](http://www.john-howe.com/portfolio/gallery/details.php?image_id=510&mode=search) he's talked about seeing that convinced him he could be Thorin, but even if it isn't, it's the one I'm using.

Aidan was one of the first to arrive at the party, Philippa serving as host for the first meeting of Bilbo, Gandalf and the dwarves. The only person he was even slightly nervous about meeting was Ian McKellen, and in this he was far from alone, but within only a few minutes of arriving Ian had, one by one, put them all at ease with a practiced skill that Aidan greatly admired. Despite thinking he should spend a large part of the night getting to know Rob, his soon-to-be partner-in-crime, he found himself gravitating toward Jimmy and Adam instead, a natural affinity quickly developing between them.

When Richard arrived, almost the last through the door, he slowly made his way around the room, meeting everyone who hadn't yet moved outside into the sunshine. A firm handshake and a few introductory words, an ordinary greeting not dissimilar to the many Aidan had made that night. But for the rest of the evening he unconsciously made note of where Richard was and who he was talking to, found himself paying attention to small mannerisms and nervous ticks.

Richard was quieter than he expected. Not so much shy, but watchful and slightly reserved. He was intriguing, and Aidan wondered what he tapped into to create the characters he'd seen him play, what he'd call upon to turn himself into Thorin. This is not someone, Aidan thought, who revealed all of himself, and yet there was no artifice. He was genuine, he was real. And he stirred something deep in Aidan's chest he'd rather remained silent.

 

The casts pre-production work began in earnest now, the days filled with training, costume fittings, read-throughs and prosthetic molds. They seemed to feed off each other's energy, finding their way not only into their characters but quite quickly becoming a team. Every day was both tiring and wonderfully exhilarating; most nights they fell into some pub or another to share stories over pints of beer and wine. Sometimes during the week, and almost every weekend, they gathered at someone's house, each taking turns hosting the company of dwarves.

All except one. A couple of weeks passed and, despite taking everyone out to dinner, Richard had yet to invite them all over. Aidan found himself trying to come up with excuses why he'd have to drop by unannounced, caught himself hoping Richard had just a bit too much to drink some night and needed help making his way home. It wasn't just nosiness or idle curiosity; he felt an urge to understand this man in a way he hadn't experienced in far too many years.

Despite it making him a bit queasy, he couldn't help unconsciously collecting Armitage details, facts and trivia. He watched as Richard connected with the cast and crew, taking time to get to know all of them very deliberately yet utterly natural and sincere. He admired the ease with which Richard settled into their arduous schedule, knew in general his favorite bike and jogging routes, recognized a possible superstition in the order in which he put on his dwarf boots and what might be an unconscious routine at the end of the day. And most embarrassingly, he'd started to know the different varieties of Richard's smile, the size and breadth of his hands, the flex and shape of his wrist as he trained with his sword.

But what most surprised him was the slight sense of unease he could feel from Richard at times, as if there were moments when even his skin didn't fit. It was never constant, never hindered him, and Aidan thought if he hadn't been paying an inordinate amount of attention he probably wouldn't have noticed at all. There was doubt there, lurking just underneath the surface, an unsettled aspect that seemed to be keeping him off balance. But it was confusing, because at the same time there was no doubt Richard was becoming their leader, each day turning him more into the dwarf they would all follow into battle. Aidan wasn't sure what he was seeing, but he wanted to keep looking, he needed to find out. His picture of the man felt incomplete, and if all the hours they spent together weren't providing answers, perhaps they were within the four walls he was calling home for the next year and a half.

 

Three weeks in and to Aidan the time seemed to have passed both incredibly fast and bone-achingly slow. He'd never physically worked so hard to prepare for a role, but the hard work was more than mitigated by the fun. The camaraderie fueled them all, and for everyone but the local lads, the discovery of a new country and culture kept exhaustion at bay. And there was something about the wide range in their ages that solidified them as a unit. The dynamics that grew out of their different careers and stages of life - the wide variety of strengths, weaknesses and experiences - only served to pull them together rather than set them apart.

Aidan had particularly enjoyed seeing how all the temporarily transplanted had turned their assigned houses into homes. Individual personalities and lifestyles were more clearly defined there, and everyone let their hair down just a little bit more when they came together at somebody's home. All of which made the fact he'd yet to see inside Richard's place all the more frustrating. Richard had taken everyone out to dinner a couple of times, even organized a weekend tour of some of the local wineries, but a proper get-together at chez Armitage had yet to happen, and Aidan's curiosity had grown with each day that house remained a mystery.

That night, a few of them found themselves in Graham's back garden, talking and laughing as they watched the lights reflected in Wellington harbour. Considering they hadn't had much to drink at all, they were surprisingly raucous, but none of the noise and overlapping conversations were enough to distract Aidan from his fixation on seeing inside Richard's house. If asked, he'd have to concede he'd become slightly obsessive about it, but it helped knowing Rob was equally curious. He could dismiss his own interest as simply natural inquisitiveness and not the deeper, more personal need it really was.

Now he hovered around the outskirts of a few conversations, not fully participating in any, while keeping one ear focused on Richard and Graham a few feet away. From the beginning, those two had hit it off, and lately Aidan was loathe to admit even to himself that he'd started feeling a little jealous of the time they spent together. He knew it was patently ridiculous. Graham's wife was here and he was clearly completely devoted to her. But since Aidan wanted to be spending more time with Richard himself, it felt as if Graham was always around using up the time that Aidan wanted for himself.

They were deep in a conversation that, from a distance, appeared too serious to be interrupted. But then Richard laughed, one of his full-bodied, deep-from-the-belly kinds, and Aidan shifted all his attention to them, accidentally catching Graham's eye.

"Now Aidan, I believe, will agree with me," Graham announced, motioning him over.

"What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Gardens," Richard replied, motioning solemnly with his glass.

"Gardens. Right. So a real gripping conversation then."

"And something I'm sure you know a lot about."

Aidan matched Richard's smile with his own. "Are you doubting my gardening prowess? I'll have you know I once kept flowers in a window box alive for an entire day before they wilted away."

"Right then," Graham proclaimed. "We have our expert judge."

"No no, don't bring me into this. Besides, I've never seen Richard's garden."

"Ah yes, it's only the obnoxious neighbors who push their way in for a visit."

" _You've_ seen it?"

"Just the once but that was enough. Sorry state of affairs over there, with this fire pit that looks like it came off of the Partridge Family bus."

"It's kind of an art deco inspired mosaic, and it's not that bad."

For the first time, Aidan didn't really hear what Richard had said. His brain was stuck on the knowledge that Graham had been to Richard's house, had apparently just gone over and been invited in. Ridiculously simple, no elaborate lies required. He felt foolish, with a dash of envy thrown into the bargain.

Graham slung his arm across Aidan's shoulders, startling him out of his head. "I think we've officially bored this young dwarf."

"The conversation started in a much more interesting place, I swear."

"What? No, I was just thinking that we should head over to Richard's, let me take a look, do a comparison."

"Excellent idea. Field trip to Richard's!" Graham's voice probably carried to Auckland, and several bemused faces turned in their direction.

Aidan felt this sudden surge of protectiveness mixed with irritation. His idea was for only the three of them to go over there when the party was breaking up, not for everyone to traipse off en masse. Besides, Richard probably wouldn't want this spontaneous company anyway, the lot of them mucking about in his back garden. Aidan was about to speak up in Richard's defense when that deep baritone voice that sent shivers through him cut him off.

"My garden is your garden, if you want. But be warned, I only have one bottle of wine at the moment."

"So it'll be a quick stop. See the garden and come back."

"Why are we doing this?" Jed asked, clearly echoing the thoughts of everyone else.

"Just a friendly competition and you're all the judges."

"Alright, but it's still early. After we have a look at whatever it is you want us to see, we could head down to The Library, see if there's a band playing tonight?"

Aidan stood quietly, unbelieving at the nods of agreement as everyone slowly began heading back into the house to leave. It figured they'd all just roll with it, decide to go along with some half-baked idea they didn't really understand. Normally he loved that about this bunch, but now it irritated him. And most annoying was how casually willing Richard seemed to be about it all; he was actually leading the way! All this time of thinking any visit would be some horrible invasion of privacy, waiting for Richard to make the first move and have them all over - when he thought about how much time he'd wasted trying to think of a plausible reason to go over there, it made his head hurt.

"Come on." Graham elbowed him in the back, practically pushing him forward. "You're the head judge; can't leave you behind."

 

During the walk to Richard's house, Aidan lit up a cigarette and stuck toward the back of the pack. He knew he was being too quiet, some might call it sulky, but he couldn't stop himself. This wasn't what he wanted, and he was almost disappointed that Richard appeared so copacetic about it all. He started to think he'd been misreading him all this time, and that fact alone bothered him. There were times when he hated himself for paying so much attention to Richard, would try and force himself to stop. But then he'd think he would see something in Richard's eyes that would give him pause, when they were talking he seemed to lean slightly closer to Aidan than was necessarily natural, and Aidan would swear he wasn't the only one who maneuvered so they would be sitting next to each other during a group's night out.

As if on cue, Aidan looked up to find Richard had somehow slowed his pace so that he was now nearly walking beside him, but he was talking to Graham. They were still going on about this stupid garden thing; there weren't any weird Aidan-focused machinations going on here. Except Graham was further ahead, closer to where Richard had been, and even though he hadn't moved right next to Aidan, he'd matched his stride almost perfectly, keeping a steady, close distance between them.

Aidan was glad when they started up Richard's walk; at least now maybe he could get out of his own head, stop reading something into everything that Richard did. He stamped out his cigarette, shook his head slightly, and told himself to get this whole judging thing out of the way as quickly as possible. The sooner he was out of this house the better. But once he stepped inside, his inner nosy parker got the best of him, and while Graham nattered on about some such nonsense, directing everyone to the back door, Aidan hung back then made a beeline for the stairs.

The layout was slightly different than his place, but investigating shouldn't take very long; there weren't too many rooms up here. He poked his head in the first door on the right and flipped the switch to reveal the bathroom. A full toiletry travel case was open and propped up on the sink, the only thing not still packed inside was a toothbrush laying across the top of the kit. It was as if he got ready in the morning, then repacked everything before leaving for the day, and it was the last thing Aidan expected to find. There was being neat and then there was being obsessive, which was literally the last word he would have used to describe Richard.

Aidan stepped out of the room, listened for the others downstairs for a moment, then continued down and across the hall to what he could see through the door was the bedroom. He slipped inside, not sure at all what he intended to do once he got in there. It was just an average, run-of-the-mill room, far tidier than Aidan's but that wouldn't be difficult considering the state of his own place at the moment. Other than a few lamps, the only thing visible on any surface was a travel alarm clock by the bed; there were no pictures or personal effects at all, not even a book by the nightstand. As he started to round the corner of the bed, he nearly tripped over one of Richard's suitcases; two more were just on the other side.

He looked inside the first one, slightly overfull with a variety of clothes loosely packed and piled haphazardly on each other, a row of shoes stuck up along the edges. He stepped over to the second bag and flipped it open. It was full as well, and Aidan could swear Richard had worn the first few shirts over the last week. Beside the third suitcase, an open carry-on sat next to the bed, a pile of books stacked inside and Richard's sleeve-encased laptop shoved in beside them.

He had no real idea what secret he thought would be unlocked here, but this was definitely not it. What could possibly be his reason for not unpacking? They'd all decided to fly to the other side of the world, spend more than a year living and breathing in this new landscape, and yet Richard was acting as if this was a weekend shoot and he'd be on a plane back to London tomorrow. He couldn't possibly intend to spend the next year and a half living out of suitcases.

Someone called his name and Aidan vaulted to his feet and sprinted back across the hall. He flushed the toilet, ran the water in the sink for a second, then dashed back out and down the stairs.

"Needed the loo," he said quickly, to a chorus of off-color jokes. But when he caught Richard's eye there was a slight stricken look, as if he knew exactly what Aidan had been doing, knew exactly what Aidan had seen. In the next instant it was gone, but Aidan didn't think he'd ever forget it.

"For shirking your duties as head judge," Graham stated, steering Aidan toward the front door, "you're getting the first round."

"Fair enough." Aidan forced his voice and manner to be light and easy, but all the while he could feel Richard's eyes on him, could see that unfiltered pained expression only he was responsible for creating.

 

He'd left the bar early, guilt and regret making him uncomfortable and edgy. Richard had been his usual self, but he was an actor; it was his job to put on masks. And considering nothing in his previous behavior would have given Aidan any clue he hadn't really moved in, was still packing everything away every day as if he had a plane to catch the next morning, his casual attitude last night was definitely no indication of how he was really feeling.

Despite having an early night, Aidan still struggled to push through the morning's circuits of weight training and cardio. He finished what he hoped was the last round, his body feeling like it was made of Jell-O, and didn't so much sit as slide down to the floor, the wall the only thing keeping him upright. He gulped down almost half of his water in one go, the muscles in his throat the only ones in his body that didn't ache. He'd done his best to keep his distance from Richard today, but whether that was for his or Richard's benefit he wasn't sure. But now, even before he could see him, Aidan could tell he was coming over. Somehow he'd developed a kind of warped spidey sense over the past couple of weeks, but rather than alerting him to danger it was tuned to the Armitage proximity channel.

Just as he started to try on various conversation starters for size, Richard sat beside him, closer than Aidan was expecting, and he couldn't help the little thrill that ran across his skin.

"Hey, man." Aidan intended to merely glance in his direction, keep his focus on the others scattered around the room, but something in Richard's eyes held him in place.

"I wanted to talk about yesterday, before it got any more awkward between us," Richard began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sure you saw I still have everything in my toiletry kit."

He paused, clearly waiting for a response, but Aidan struggled to think of something to say, finally settling on a simple nod.

"And I think we both know you saw my suitcases."

"Suitcases?" Aidan asked, a little too quickly. He frowned, hoping to keep his eyes from growing wide.

"You forgot to re-close one after you looked inside."

Aidan felt a momentary spike of panic before pushing it down. He could save this; he had to. Hoping he looked sincere and contrite, he turned his body to make it easier to look Richard straight in the eye.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to be so nosy. It's just ..."

"It's ok," Richard interrupted, a reassuring smile softening his face. "In a way, it's a relief. At least now I can finally talk to someone."

"You can talk to me about anything, man, anything at all."

Richard hesitated for a moment, and there was that look again, that subtle shift in his eyes that Aidan felt like an arrow to his heart. He half expected Richard to duck his head, to change the subject, but his eyes never wavered.

"Has it been conspicuous that I haven't had everyone over to my place, yet?"

"Half of us were there last night."

"And I kept that brief by claiming I didn't have anything for them to drink." He chuckled at the obvious surprised look on Aidan's face. "What, you don't believe I can think on the fly? It'd been a rough day, the night was young, no one had even finished their first drink. Nobody would have left if there'd been alcohol on offer."

Aidan laughed, mostly in relief. He felt like less of a dick for being so agitated at the ease with which Richard seemed to accept everyone going to his place last night. Not that he was glad Richard really hadn't wanted to invite everyone over, but it made the past few weeks make sense again.

"Anyway," Richard continued, stretching out one impossibly long leg, "you know what I mean. Has it been obvious to everyone that I've never invited all of them over?"

Aidan paused, trying to think of a nice way of saying it that wouldn't make Richard uncomfortable, but coming up blank. "I think, I'd say the guys are ... curious. But it's not like they think you're antisocial or anything; no one's going around talking about it. Or about you, for that matter."

He wished he could take it back the minute the slight wince crossed Richard's face. "Don't worry about it," he continued in a rush. "You're always picking up the tab, you've treated us to some amazing dinners."

Richard looked down and swallowed, as if the words were stuck in his throat, before meeting Aidan's eyes again. "It's not that I don't want to have you all over. I was just hoping to wait until I was more sorted. The problem is I can't seem to make myself unpack. I keep waiting for Pete to realize he's made a terrible mistake."

The quiet confession hung there between them, a sticky mix of tension from Richard and surprise from Aidan, until Aidan shook his tongue loose.

"Not gonna happen."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"He's done it before. There's no reason to think he wouldn't do it again if it's for the good of the film."

"But it wouldn't be."

Richard looked around the room as if he was searching for something, then leveled Aidan with a look that could only be described as broken, eyes laced with raw emotion.

"I'm not Thorin."

"Well, Peter, Fran and Phil all think you are. _We_ all think you are. And you will, too. Just give it time."

Richard looked down at his hands and shook his head. "Anyway, that's what's been bothering me."

Aidan had to do something to wipe that look from Richard's face. Seeing him look so dejected and lost was killing him inside.

"You know, in a way I'm relieved this is all it is. You have no idea what's been going through my head."

"Really."

"Yeah, like maybe you hadn't figured out how to lock away all your bondage gear yet or found the best way to hide the bodies or something.

He got the laugh he was hoping for, a small breathy one but a laugh all the same, which pleased him probably more than it should.

"Can we keep this between us?" Richard asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, if that's what you want."

"Thanks."

"We'll talk about this again, alright? Try and sort it out?"

Richard smiled down at him. "Sure, if you want," he said before heading for the locker room.

Aidan sunk back against the wall, letting the back of his head bump against the plaster. He couldn't believe Richard, of all people, was feeling so insecure. No one seemed better prepared. He studied Tolkien more than any of them, spent what seemed like hours working on Thorin's voice, spoke to Fran and Phil almost daily, nearly constant work to fully inhabit his character. Aidan was sure none of that was driven by fear; it was just how Richard worked, completely immersing himself in every detail, creating and absorbing a history he could call upon whenever needed. How could someone so on top of his game be so unsure he was doing a good job?

Aidan went to take another drink of water, realizing the bottle was empty only after lifting it to his lips. He was about to go get a refill when a conversation he'd had with Ian a few nights ago pushed into his head. At the time, he hadn't really been listening, too focused on trying to see if Ian had noticed him watching Richard, but it seemed to have come so completely out of left field he'd just let it slip from his mind. But now his words started to make sense.

_"Sometimes you see it, don't you?"_

_"Hm?"_

_"It's not obvious, I doubt anyone else has noticed."_

_"I don't know what you mean."_

_"You never know what that one thing will be that will let you find your way into a role; it changes from part to part. He hasn't found it yet and it worries him. But he'll be alright. I think all he needs to do is see himself in the part, see that transformation before his eyes. It'll all settle into place then."_

Half of Aidan's brain started screaming at him. Ian _had_ noticed, and if he did probably everyone else did too.

"And if that's all you're going to take away from this, then you're the biggest idiot on the planet, Turner." When one of the trainers turned to look at him, Aidan raised his water bottle, flashing him a smile, before getting up and heading for the cooler. Yes, Ian had noticed, but he'd also given him something important, something he might be able to use to help Richard get past this and finally settle his mind. The problem was they were still working on the final look for Thorin, and Aidan hated the idea of Richard living out of suitcases for much longer.

 

Four days have passed and Aidan was a man on a mission. He took long, purposeful drags from his cigarette as he walked the short distance to Richard's house. It was a gloomy-skied Saturday afternoon, the threat of rain keeping his steps brisk, and he felt every slight gust of wind straight through to his marrow. He shoved his hand in his pocket, nervously fingering the edges of a folded piece of paper, the one thing he hoped would solve what he'd been privately calling "The Suitcase Situation."

Two days ago, he'd managed to steal a few minutes from his schedule and wrangle an invite into the art department to look at some of the character sketches and concept art. He'd driven into Stone Street many times before, but this time was completely different. There was a nervous tickle in his belly as he was led into a room filled with the accoutrement of Middle-earth, the walls lined with drawings and sketches. His eyes scanned across the images, asking questions, completely in awe at the work before him. It felt almost selfish to be getting so much out of this visit himself, the drawings setting his imagination on fire, the script coming to life before his eyes.

Just when he was about to give up, he saw what he'd come to find. It was something about the eyes, in the angle of the face, the line of the nose. He couldn't really say why he thought it was perfect; he just knew. And the best thing was he swore he'd seen it before; it hadn't been drawn specifically for the film, so he wouldn't have to come up with a good reason why he'd like a copy. That night he found it on John Howe's Web site, printed the page, and before he could second guess himself, called Richard and arranged to meet.

Aidan stood in the street looking anywhere but the house in front of him, then took one last pull from his cigarette and crushed it beneath his foot. He'd been trying to come up with plausible excuses why he needed to drop by Richard's place for so long that even though he knew he was expected he felt like a liar, this strange apprehension at being caught in a fib, as he stepped up to the door. The warm smile that ushered him into the house put to rest some of his tension, but he was still finally alone with him and that was enough to keep his senses tingling. He wasn't normally so anxious around people he was attracted to; he'd decide to either act on his feelings or not and be done with it. But they were going to be working together for so long; it could become incredibly awkward if things went south. Plus, right now Richard might not appreciate the distraction, especially if Aidan's idea to help him through this block didn't work.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Richard asked, walking through to the kitchen.

"Whatever you're having is great."

Richard pulled a bottle of a local brew out of the fridge and held it out to Aidan. "Not your new favorite lager?"

"I didn't think you'd have any."

"I'm a good host."

"Cheers." Aidan smiled as he took the bottle, hoping the flock of butterflies making an aviary in his chest just from the husky sound in Richard's voice didn't manage to send him airborne. He took a gulp of his drink, decidedly not looking at Richard swallow some of his own, then cleared his throat.

"So, this unpacking thing."

Richard laughed, ducking his head with a quiet chuckle. "I guess you believe in getting right down to business."

"Yeah, you know," Aidan said, smiling, "get the serious stuff out of the way then we have the rest of the day to enjoy ourselves."

Richard's eyes snapped up with a slight mischievous gleam Aidan swore he'd never seen before, making his brain misfire. Then Richard squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and when he looked at Aidan again the look was gone.

"That sounds like a good plan, but I'm not sure anyone but Peter can convince me things are going well, and I'm not about to ask him."

"Listen to me. You're not going anywhere, man, and you can't keep living out of boxes."

"Funnily enough, I didn't ship anything over."

"And, of course, you're taking that as some kind of premonition or something."

"No, just interesting."

Aidan put his bottle on the counter then wiped his hands on his jeans. "Look, I'm not sure there's anything I could say that will change your mind, either. But," he continued, pulling the sketch from his pocket, "I'm hoping this might do the trick."

Richard took the paper, setting his glass down as elegant fingers slowly unfolded it. He stared at it for a long moment not saying anything, the expression on his face unreadable.

Aidan shifted from side to side, his hands restless and fidgeting, until he finally blurted out "Well?" when the silence had become unbearable.

"Is this John Howe?" Richard asked, refolding the sheet and sliding it into his own pocket.

"What?"

"Did John Howe draw this?"

"Yeah, but, I mean, what do you think?"

"I think," Richard said slowly, "that I need to sit with it on my own for a while."

"Right." Aidan knew he must look disappointed but there was no way to hide it. Not only had he failed in his mission but he was being asked to leave less than five minutes after stepping through the door. The day had definitely not gone as planned. He started to walk back toward the front door, trying to think of something light and casual to say so he could at least leave on a less weird note.

"Where are you going?"

Aidan turned his head and was surprised to see Richard had taken a couple of steps toward him, his hand hovering as if he'd been about to reach for Aidan's arm before he pulled it back.

"I thought you wanted to be alone."

"Not right this minute. To be honest, I never expected to spend the afternoon talking about my neuroses. I was just glad to be able to invite someone over and not have to hide anything or make sure they didn't go upstairs or explain why there's nothing of mine around the house."

"I can help you solve that problem." Aidan hooked his thumb toward the stairs. "Let's go unpack your stuff."

All the sharpness in Richard's face softened as the barest hint of a smile curled his lips, his eyes lighting up from within. "But that sketch, you surprised me, you really did. I need to take some time with it, with myself, but not now. Stay. Please. I bought lager I don't like, so who will drink it if not you. And there must be something interesting on TV."

"Or we could just talk."

"Or we could just talk."

Aidan nodded, flexing every actor muscle he had not to pump his fist in victory or do a little happy dance where he stood. "Cool," he said, flopping down on the nearest couch and kicking his feet up. "Bring me my drink?"

 

As hard as it was to hold his tongue, Aidan was determined not to bring up the drawing or the suitcases until Richard decided to talk about it. And although he wanted to know if his idea was a total flop or not, he was more than enjoying this new shift in their relationship. Most of Richard's natural reserve had already dropped over the past few weeks, but being alone with him Aidan thought he was finally seeing a side of Richard he didn't share often or with many people, the same man but more, and it was a privilege getting to know this private Richard.

The other day had been more than Aidan had ever expected. He'd had all of Richard's attention focused on him and he hadn't felt twitchy or tongue-tied. Just the opposite, in fact; it was the most relaxed he'd been in ages. He'd finally come to terms with how much he was drawn to the man, finally deciding there was nothing more right than acting on those feelings as soon as humanly possible.

And he would swear it wasn't only his over-eager imagination that saw signs of interest from Richard, as well. For one, he looked at Aidan a lot. Not in itself unusual when having a conversation, to be sure, but it was steadier, more pointed, than how he looked at anyone else. There was the almost constant sense that Richard was always on the edge of touching him, nothing grand or romantic, simply laying his hand on Aidan's arm or shoulder. It was a gesture he didn't hesitate to do with anyone else, but with Aidan he stopped himself every time. It was as if he was afraid of revealing too much, that in this case it would be more than just a simple touch.

They were all out at the stables, and Aidan had had a good ride. He was pleased that he was no longer feeling any soreness after being in the saddle, and he felt confident behind the reins. He sat on the top rail of the corral and tilted his head back into the sun, content to let the next few minutes slowly wash over him.

"Hey."

Richard's voice was right in front of him, and Aidan was pleased he didn't actually jump at the sound. He smirked a little, surprised he'd been so lost in his head that his Armitage alert hadn't gone off.

"Hey. What's the craic, mate?"

"Graham looks a little less terrified on his horse."

"Only just."

"Good ride?"

"Yeah, it's been a great morning."

"You looked good."

Aidan could only smile in reply, the wide grin drifting toward lascivious all on its own. He couldn't help it; Richard's eyes were literally twinkling, there was no denying it, and Aidan could feel himself needing to move, to reach out and drag Richard in. He gripped the wood a little tighter as his feet began to restlessly tap out a random rhythm on the lower rail.

"So," Richard continued, "I've been inviting everyone over for Sunday lunch - catered, of course - and I'm really hoping you can come."

"Why 'of course'?"

"I can chop and I can reheat. The rest is best left to someone else."

Aidan laughed, filing that bit of information away for another day. "Yeah, I'll be there, absolutely. So, you're unpacked then."

"No, but thanks to you I'm about to. Somehow you found what I needed; thank you." Richard reached out and clasped Aidan's shoulder, letting his hand linger slightly longer than normal before letting go. And Aidan could physically feel that final slide into something warm and easy and completely right, something that until today he'd only been able to hope for.

"How did you know?" Richard asked. "How did that even occur to you?"

Aidan hesitated a moment, unsure if Richard would appreciate knowing someone else had recognized he'd been having difficulties. "Ian told me, but you know Ian. He's worked with so many people over so many years; I bet nothing gets past him. I was still pretty clueless, and what he said didn't make much sense at the time. He said something about actors sometimes needing to see themselves in the part, and when I finally figured it out, well, I guess I just hoped seeing some of the art might do it for you until the final look was finished."

Richard nodded slowly. "I'll have to remember to thank him later." He took a slight step forward, nearly brushing Aidan's knee. "So, if I'm going to be ready for Sunday, do you want to come by on Saturday? Lend me a hand with my suitcases and things?"

Aidan held Richard's gaze feeling heat flush his skin, seeing everything he wanted laid out before him in this strong and gentle man.

"Yeah, man. I'll even bring you a housewarming present."

"Well, you're coming so I think that's sorted." Richard flashed him a quick smile, ducking his head as he turned to head back toward the stables. And Aidan was sure his own smile didn't leave his face for the rest of the day.


End file.
